


Winter's Rose

by Walkinthegarden



Series: Winter [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Highgarden, House Stark, House Tyrell, King Rhaegar, Marriage, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, R plus L equals J, Robert's Rebellion Failed, Sansa-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkinthegarden/pseuds/Walkinthegarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Robert's Rebellion failed, the King, a Prince, and a Princess were dead and a new King and Queen were crowned. In order to punish those that defied his family, King Rhaegar ordered all second born children of the Houses that rebelled be sent away to foster with loyal Houses. Sansa Stark, second child of Ned and Catelyn Stark, was sent away to Highgarden. Now she is getting married and the Stark family are finally allowed to see her again, but what they find isn't what they expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robb

**Chapter 1 – Robb**

As a man born and raised of the North, the sheer magnificence of Highgarden is rather off-putting. It further cements a frequent thought of the young Lord, that his sister is likely very different than both his parents as well as their siblings would like to believe.

“Robb,” his mother scolds from beside him, “pay attention.”

“Of course mother,” he says with a false smile, watching with narrowed eyes as his mother scolds Arya on the shape of her gown.

Shaking his head, Robb turns his attention to the front steps of the monstrosity that is Highgarden. Standing there in the middle of a crowd of servants, is a beautiful young woman in a dress far too revealing to possibly be proper. If the eldest son of Eddard Stark had to venture a guess, he’d say that the young lady was none other than Lady Margaery Targaryen, good sister to the King.

“Lord Stark,” the beautiful young woman greets cheerfully, sweeping the down the front steps as his father dismounts from his horse.

“Princess Margaery,” his father says with a bow, “it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Forget formalities, we are to be family Lord Stark,” the Targaryen Princess dismisses with a wave to her hand.

Robb dismounts his horse and looks around expectantly. Where is Sansa? Why hasn’t she come out to greet them?

“I apologize that Lady Sansa is not here to greet you. My sister is so very busy with the last minute preparations. Rest assured, you will see her tonight at the welcome feast.” Margaery gives them a wide smile that seems too kind and far too devious for Robb’s liking.

“Oh,” his mother says beside him, clearly disappointed by the turn of events.

“Do not worry Lady Stark, Sansa is well loved here at Highgarden. I am sure you will find your daughter has been well cared for,” the Princess of the Seven Realms says with a kind smile, but there is a gleam to her eye, an untrusting glimmer that puts Robb ill at ease. “We have prepared a Wing to house you and your family Lord Stark. If you follow Suzanne and Lukas, they will show you to your solars.”

It was a chill welcome, far too chill for family of the bride, but Robb says nothing as he follows the two servants to the family chambers.

The hours pass in relative silence. Robb spends most of it trying to read a volume he’s been working on for most of the journey, but he considers the task futile when he realizes he’s read a page half a dozen times and still does not know what the contents says. In a desperate attempt to pass the remaining time, he makes his way out onto the balcony that accompanies his solar.

“Gaudy,” he mumbles to himself as he looks over the rather lavish gardens.

“Loras!” a voice shrieks from down below, startling Robb from his thoughts. Turning his attention in the direction of the shriek, his eyes narrow in on a young woman standing in a pavilion. She stands beside an ornate metal table where he recognizes Lady Margaery and a young woman that can only be Princess Daenerys sit calmly, watching the woman who made the shriek.

The woman is beautiful, with a lovely pale face and long flowing hair that shines like a red gold. Robb’s mouth runs dry as he realizes that the woman can only be Sansa. He grasps the metal rod tightly as he leans closer. There she stands, the sister he dreamed of, the sister said to be his mother’s image. She is pale faced but even from so far away he can see her smile is true and large.

“Sansa,” he whispers, tears in his eyes as he stares at her.

The man, Loras, bows his head beside Sansa’s whispering something in her ear is Robb had to guess. Whatever he says seems agreeable to his sister, as she takes the offered hand of the youngest Tyrell son and allows the boy to lead her into a run. The two Targaryen Princesses rise from their seats and wave joyfully to the couple, laughing once they are out of sight.

Perplexed, Robb returns to his bed and sits upon it, pondering the events he has just witnessed. He has heard a very different tale in reference to his sister. He remembers his father’s anger and hatred when his Aunt Lyanna sent a letter outlining the news of the attack on his sister by a Lannister bannerman when she was four and ten. The letter had also painted a much darker picture of his sister, of a girl plagued with fear and nervousness. The Sansa the letter described and the Sansa he just witnessed seem worlds apart.

Shaking the thought from his head, Robb promises himself that he will see that Sansa is safe and happy for himself before the night is done. If for any reason she is not, he will take her away himself, forgo his birthright if necessary and escape with her to the Free Cities.

With the distressing thoughts on hold, the eldest son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark readies himself for the Welcome Feast.

After he is finished dressing, looking every bit the part of a future Lord, Robb makes his way down the hall and knocks on Arya’s door.

“Come in!” comes a stressed cry.

When Robb opens the door, it takes everything in him to contain his laughter. Two very frustrated looking handmaidens have seemed to wrestle his younger sister into a gown of Tully blue. While Arya appears to have resigned herself to the fact that they will make her look like a Lady, the angry pout does little to make her look proper.

“If you say anything I’ll murder you in your sleep,” Arya hisses at him, wagging a threatening finger in his direction.

“Do not worry sister, I have come to save you. It is time for the feast,” he says, still trying to stifle his laugh without much success.

“Thank goodness,” Arya breathes happily, jumping from her platform and running to his side to escape the handmaidens’ reaching hands. With an amused smile, Robb offers his arm which Arya grudgingly takes and leads his sister down the path of twisting halls to the Banquet Hall.

The pair arrived to find a sea of people already there, some mingling and some already seated.

“Where is Sansa?” Arya asked as a young servant boy leads them to their seats.

“She will be announced later, with her betrothed,” he whispers.

When they find their seats, he spots Princess Rhaenys standing beside the Princesses Margaery and Daenerys. He is about to make his way towards them when a voice announces that it is time for everyone to take their seats.

Once everyone is situated, another voice announces the soon to be wedded couple. Sansa and her husband step forward from darkness, both looking magnificent on the top step of the descending marble staircase. Sansa is a vision of beauty, dressed in a sleeveless gown of green that hugs her waist before flaring out dramatically. Her hair is a crown all its own, threaded with golden ribbon to accent the gold of her hair. While her smile is large and her eyes sparkle with laughter, Robb’s heart falls when he sees the white of her knuckles. Despite the beautiful presentation of the perfect Lady, it is the way that Sansa clutches her soon to be husband’s arm that confirms Robb’s greatest fear.

Sansa is terrified.


	2. Catelyn

**Chapter 2 – Catelyn**

 

“Lord Willas and Lady Sansa.”

 

The room explodes into applause and Catelyn tries desperately without much success to hold back her tears as she watches her eldest daughter step out onto the top step of the large staircase. Her darling Sansa, whom she has not seen since the first fortnight of her birth, is a woman grown. The beautiful babe that she was forced to hand over to Lady Tyrell is breathtaking, truly the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms.

 

Sansa is smiling brightly on her betrothed’s arm. Together, the couple descend the staircase, down the red silk path to the high table. Already she acts the part of a Lady, smiling charmingly at Lords and Ladies, grasping hands and exchanging quick greetings with those close enough to the pathway. As the couple make it to the high table, Lord Willas pulls out Sansa’s chair and together they sit.

 

The meal is served, but Catelyn can’t focus on the meal as she watches her eldest daughter. Sansa appears happy, chatting with her husband to be on her left and her good brother on her right. Catelyn watches as Sansa laughs with her good brother, clasping her hand over his while they lean in close like two young and gossiping girls. It is a bond of a brother and sister, making Catelyn remember the day Sansa was taken from her.

 

_“It is time Catelyn,” Ned whispered gently, reaching up a hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ear._

_“I know,” Catelyn whispered, tears in her eyes as she stares down at the beautiful baby girl asleep in her arms. Never in her life has Catelyn felt so miserable as she did that moment._

_“Let’s go,” he whispered, taking her around the shoulders and steering her towards the large doors that lead to the courtyard._

_Lady Alerie Tyrell is standing in the courtyard, observing the Tyrell guards as they ready for the long journey back to Highgarden. She is not what Catelyn would call a pretty woman, but she is comely in her own way and her silver locks which look Targaryen blonde in the sun, do wonders when it comes to making her appear more vibrant and youthful._

_“Ser Oleander, do be careful. I imagine your daughter would not be pleased if I returned you with a turned back,” the woman that will be leaving with Catelyn’s daughter says with a kind smile, helping the man lift the last of the trunks._

_“Thank you my Lady,” the man says with a warm smile before bowing out to mount his horse._

_It comforts Catelyn some to see that such a kind woman will be raising her daughter. It gives her hope that Sansa may grow to be a happy child, even as a hostage. After all, it was not required for any of the Tyrell family to make the journey North to retrieve her babe, yet Lady Alerie left her young daughter and son at home to make the long journey North._

_“It is time to go my Lady,” a Tyrell guard tells the Lady of Highgarden._

_“In a moment Ser, in a moment.”_

_Catelyn clutches her daughter, not wanting to ever let her go. How is it that a mother being separated from her child is so commonplace yet feels so horrible? A mother should never be forced to separate from her child._

_“Lady Stark,” Alerie says softly, approaching Catelyn with caution. Her eyes are grave, saddened deeply by Catelyn’s hurt._

_“I know, I know,” Catelyn whispers, kissing Sansa’s forehead as she slowly hands her only daughter to this woman she hardly knows._

_“I will love her as if she is my own,” Alerie whispers in Catelyn’s ear as she takes the babe from Catelyn’s arms, “she’ll want for nothing.”_

_Catelyn could keep the tears back no longer as she watched her daughter leave, never to come back._

As the meal comes to an end, tables are cleared away and singers make their way to a small platform to accompany the bands of music. Lords and Ladies from all across the Realm make their way onto the dance floor.

 

Catelyn wants more than anything to make her way to her daughter, but Sansa is surrounded by her betrothed, his family, and a Targaryen Princess whose name escapes her.

 

Sansa sits for the first two dances, likely a sign of respect as her betrothed cannot dance with his lame leg. As the third comes to begin, Catelyn watches as men make their way towards her daughter in the hopes of asking for a dance, but Garlan sweeps in from nowhere, not bothering to ask as he pulls her daughter onto the dance floor.

 

“I want to speak to her,” Catelyn says quietly, turning to her husband beside her.

 

“You will Catelyn,” he whispers in return, placing his arm around her. His eyes are also glued to their daughter.

 

“They’ve kept her from us,” she says bitterly. It’s true, for all Lady Alerie promised, the Tyrells have thwarted them at every turn from conversing with their daughter. First their daughter was not there to greet them and now it is as if they have conspired to constantly surround her.

 

“You remember Lyanna’s letter, Sansa is not well from it. They are being her family. They see her as theirs to protect from outsiders.”

 

“We are not outsiders. We are Sansa’s _family_ ,” Catelyn bites back, returning her attention to her daughter.

 

Loras has taken his brother’s place, spinning Sansa about the dance floor. Sansa’s head is thrown back, her smile bright and her cheeks reddened from heat. Catelyn softens looking at her, perhaps the Tyrells’ protective nature is a good thing. If Sansa trusts them so then surely they’ve earned it?

 

As the dance comes to an end, Catelyn watches as Loras pulls Sansa closer to him, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. Sansa reddens and hides her face in Loras’s neck, causing Catelyn’s eyes to narrow. It is highly improper of the both of them to act so much like a couple. Her eyes dart to Willas, up at the high table. While his eyes remain on Sansa, she sees no jealousy or anger in his eyes as he observes them.

 

Returning her eyes to Sansa, her stomach tightens when she sees her daughter smooth her skirt and take Loras’s arm. For the first time, Sansa’s eyes rise to meet Catelyn’s. Her heart sinks when she sees no familiarity in them. Sansa does not recognize her. Of course it is silly to think she would, she was only a babe when she left Winterfell.

 

Loras and Sansa make their way through the crowd towards them. Each step seems like an eternity to Catelyn. As they approach her, she doesn’t miss the way Sansa stays half a step behind Loras, or the way her hand clutches Loras’s arm. While the smile does not leave her precious daughter’s face, there is no warmth or happiness behind it.

 

“Sansa,” Catelyn says softly, wanting nothing more than to reach out and hug the daughter she has not seen for ten and nine namedays.

 

“Mother,” Sansa replies, her voice strong and dignified like a proper lady’s should, “Father, welcome to Highgarden. I am pleased you were able to make the long journey to attend my wedding.”

 

The words are cold and entirely proper, nothing like the tearful greeting Catelyn had envisioned. Her heart breaks but she smiles anyway, hoping to reassure her daughter that she is no threat to her.

 

“Sansa, you seem well. I take it the Tyrells have been kind to you?” Ned asks beside her.

 

“Very kind, I am proud to enter their lovely family,” Sansa says, visibly brightening at the chance to speak of the family she’s known all her life.

 

“Not as proud as we are to have her. Sansa is the sweetest of us all I assure you,” Loras states with a warm smile towards his good sister.

 

“Mother, Father, I would like to invite you and the family to break fast with Loras, Garlan, Margaery, and I,” Sansa says kindly.

 

“Of course!” Catelyn blurts out, happy to grasp any shred of time with her daughter.

 

“I look forward to it,” Sansa says kindly, retaking Loras’s arm, “Now if you’ll excuse me kindly, I have many guests to attend to.”

 

Sansa leaves before Catelyn can open her mouth to stop her. She wants to shout for Sansa not to go, but all she can do is watch as Sansa returns to her circle of protectors. Her daughter visibly relaxes around them. Ser Garlan takes her by the waist, smiling wide as he pulls her to his side. Princess Margaery takes one of Sansa’s hands, giving her a reassuring smile. Lady Tyrell is smiling motherly at Sansa and leans in to give her a kiss on her cheek. Surrounding her, they lead her to the platform where her betrothed sit.

 

Catelyn’s heart shatters as she makes a startling revelation. Sansa has never belonged to her, she has always belonged to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. After posting the first chapter my cousin came into town and she is a wild one, so the computer was put on the back burner and forgotten about for a few days.


	3. Ned

**Chapter 3 – Ned**

 

It is an odd feeling, the jealousy within him as he watches his lovely young daughter with the family that has raised her. The way both Sers Loras and Garlan shield Sansa from any potential harm with both their bodies and their words is an inspiration. The way Willas smiles at Sansa as if she is the most precious thing in the world is what true love is made of. The soft smiles and motherly fussing that Lady Alerie Tyrell gives Sansa is nothing short of amazing. The family has truly taken his daughter as their own. It is a love to be celebrated, but the thought does little to lessen his desire to be the one Sansa turns to for a reassuring hand. He cannot help the bitter thought that Sansa neither needs him nor wants him.

 

He watches as Sansa excuses herself from her family, disappearing out a side door. With a quick kiss to his wife, the Lord of the North excuses himself.

 

The side door opens to one of the many gardens of Highgarden. The marble tiles that make up the path gleam like gems in the moonlight. It reminds Ned Stark of the one and only time he’d ever come to Highgarden before.

 

He never told Catelyn, but when he went to King’s Landing at the request of his sister the Queen, he’d made a stop at Highgarden to visit with his daughter.

 

_“Welcome Lord Stark,” Lady Alerie Tyrell greets warmly, immediately coming up beside him to take his arm._

_He had just spent the better part of an hour freshening up from his journey and now he is ready to meet his daughter. He bought her a doll, a pretty one with a glass face and a dress made of the finest silks, very elaborate and expensive for a Northern girl, but he doesn’t suppose his daughter really is a Northern girl._

_“Come, I will take you to her,” Lady Alerie says softly, giving him a kind smile as she leads him out to one of the many gardens of Highgarden._

_He sees her quickly, sitting in the grass with a young girl and two young boys. She sits in a pretty blue gown with her hair decorated with golden ribbons and white roses. She fits well with the Tyrell children. A boy with golden hair sitting beside her, playing some sort of hand game with her and the girl he assumes is Lady Margaery is laying out on the grass, watching the other boy as he attempts to tell a story._

_Sansa is beautiful, truly radiant even for a girl so young. She is smiling brightly, giggling at something the older of the two boys is saying to her._

_“Sansa dear,” Lady Alerie calls as they near the children._

_Immediately Sansa’s head turns and her smile brightens when she sees Lady Alerie. His heart hurts but he forces a smile on his face. He wants to pluck her from where she sits and hold her close, but she does not know him. She has no idea whom he is as a whole much less to her._

_“Come dear, I’d like you to meet someone.”_

_“Coming!” Sansa sings, rising from her spot on the grass and making her way towards them._

_Sansa stands tall, smiling up at him. “Good day my Lord,” Sansa says politely, giving a perfect curtsey, “I am Lady Sansa Stark.”_

_“Good day little Lady,” he says carefully, his heart throbbing at seeing her again after so long._

_“Sansa, this is my friend Ned. He has come very far to meet you,” Lady Alerie tells her, placing a gentle hand on Sansa’s shoulder._

_“To meet me? Then it is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Sansa says with a sweet smile._

_“I have brought you something. I hope it is to your liking,” he says awkwardly, handing Sansa the doll he’d picked for her._

_Sansa looks at the doll in his hand for a moment before she gingerly takes it, examining it beneath her delicate fingers. She feels every button and ribbon on the small doll before looking back up at him with a large smile. “Thank you Ned, it is perfect. I will name her Alee.”_

_He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding at her approval. Funny how he is a man that has seen battle, but it is a little girl that renders him speechless._

_“Run along now Sansa, you may speak more with Ned at dinner,” Lady Alerie says gently, ghosting her hand over Sansa’s shoulder._

_“Alright,” Sansa says with a grin before turning quickly to him, “Thank you so very much for the doll, it was an honor to meet you.”_

_Sansa spins on her heel and runs off before he has time to think of an answer. He watches as she returns to the Tyrell children, her new doll outstretched. The two boys sit in the grass watching her while Margaery runs over to meet her, giggling over the doll and pulling at Sansa’s hand._

_Sansa is happy, that is all a father can ask for._

It isn’t the same garden, or if it is then it has changed much since his last visit. Still, Ned feels he can almost see a ghost of his daughter running among the roses. How carefree she had seemed back then, it was a special kind of happiness he has not seen in her this night.

 

The Lord of Winterfell makes his way farther into the garden, following the slightly damp marble tiles. Finally he sees her, sitting on a stone bench, looking out at the expansive view of the gardens bellow.

 

He doesn’t mean to startle her, but he imagines he did by the way she jumps when she hears him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says kindly, keeping a distance between them in the hopes of calming her, “I did not mean to frighten you.”

 

“Lord Stark,” she replies reflexively, “I did not hear you approach.”

 

He can see the nerves plainly, and it angers him that she is so easily frightened. He remembers the letter his sister sent, detailing the attack on his precious daughter. While Lyanna had been sure to press that the man had not been able to complete his attack, Ned can see clearly she was not unscathed. His sister had written him of Sansa’s sheepish and withdrawn behavior, but he had hoped that time would reverse the negative impact. Instead what he finds is that the behavior hadn’t lessened like he’d hoped, but simply been covered with a polite demeanor.

 

“I saw you leave the feast. I wanted make sure you were alright,” he tells her, keeping his distance in the hopes of putting her at ease.

 

“Oh yes, quite well,” Sansa replies.

 

While Ned hadn’t particularly considered his daughter strong in the banquet hall, she had been armed with a polite curtesy; now his daughter appears nervous and unsure, ill at ease and visibly frightened of him. Had there had been sleeves on her gown he’s sure she’d be picking at them.

 

“Sansa, do you… remember me?” he asks, hopeful despite the fact that so much time has passed. The chances of Sansa remembering a Lord she met so young are little. As a daughter of a high Lord, even a disgraced high Lord, and niece of the King she’d have met many Lord and been given many gifts in the hopes of gaining her favor.

 

“Remember… you…” it sounds almost like a question until she narrows her eyes in thought. Her eyes fill with recognition and his heart sores. “The doll, Alee.” She looks at him, still cautious. “You gave her to me. Why…” she hesitates, “Why didn’t you tell me who you were? Why did you leave me here?”

 

“I…” he trails off, something is breaking in his daughter, something he isn’t prepared for.

 

“You left me here!” she screams, tears pooling into her eyes as she glares at him. “You left me here and he came for me because I was your daughter, because you saw fit to betray your King and damn the rest of us!”

 

“What… no Sansa, I never meant for…”

 

“He slaughtered my guards in front of me. I couldn’t move I was so terrified. He came into my bed and he whispered… do you know _what he said to me?_ ” she shrieks, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “As he clawed his way between my legs with a knife he intended to kill me with.”

 

Ned watches as his daughter disintegrates before his very eyes. She begins to shake as she crumples to the ground, tears spilling down her cheeks as she curls into herself, protecting herself. _“No! Don’t touch me! No!”_

 

“Sansa!” a voice calls behind him.

 

Ned turns to see Princess Margaery running towards him, her silver skirts gleaming in the moonlight.

 

“Sansa sweetling, listen to me,” Margaery cries as she falls beside his daughter, taking her in her arms.

 

“No, please, _help_!” Sansa shrieks, trapped in a memory as she claws at Margaery’s arms.

 

“Sansa, it’s me, it’s Margaery, you’re _safe_!” Margaery shushes before turning her eyes to Ned. “Get _Garlan!_ ”

 

Ned nods, too horrified to question her. He turns and runs through the garden, halting only when he gets to the door. If he runs through it he will alarm the guests, he takes a moment to compose himself before making his way inside. He walks with purpose, through the sea of people towards the high table where Garlan sits with his brother.

 

The golden haired boy is laughing with his brother as he makes his approach. He looks upon Ned Stark with a cold reserve, as if somehow Ned has offended him. “Lord Stark.”

 

“Sansa…” Ned breathes, watching as the cold reserve melts into an expression of fear, “she is in the garden with Lady…”

 

Garlan doesn’t wait for Ned to finish, instead he takes off into a run, taking no mind with how his frazzled behavior looks to the guests of Highgarden. Following his lead, Ned takes off after him. Once they make their way to the garden, Garlan barely comes to a stop as he slides to his knees beside Sansa.

 

“Sansa, Sansa darling,” Garlan says desperately, cupping Sansa’s face in his hands, “look at me sweet girl. Look and see my face sister.”

 

It is a special moment to witness, a boy so desperate to protect a girl he loves so dearly. Ned watches closely as this boy he has never known cradles Sansa’s face so lovely in his hands.

 

“See me Sansa. Open your eyes and see me. It is not your monster it is not your nightmare, it is me, Garlan, your _brother_. Open your eyes. You’re _safe!_ ” he pleads, tears in his eyes as he presses his lips to her forehead.

 

“Garlan?” Sansa asks quietly, sounding more like a child than the woman grown she is. Her grave eyes flickering to his face.

 

“Yes sister, it’s me, Garlan. Look at me, see my face. I will never leave you. I will never let such a horrible person come near you again. I promise,” the boy whispers. “Let’s get you to your room.”

 

Ned watches as Garlan helps Sansa to her feet, tucking her into his side as if to shield her.

 

“I’ll get Willas,” Margaery says with the nod to Garlan and a soft smile to Sansa. She waits a moment, her careful eyes watching as her brother escorts Sansa from the gardens, before turning her attention to Ned. “Your daughter is not as you imagined Lord Stark. However misplaced, she blames you for the attack on her. She doesn’t trust anyone but us. A man said to be loyal to her Uncle the King attacked her, scarred her. I am told you are an honorable man, but what honorable man betrays his King? I reserve judgement for my own eyes Lord Stark, but I must warn you, that if you dare bring any harm to Sansa that you will feel the wrath of House Tyrell in it’s entirety.”

 

Ned stares at this girl not much older than Sansa, as she easily and calmly threatens him. He watches as she turns on her heel and disappears into the castle. It will take much to win the approval of his daughter’s fierce protectors, but it is a task he is willing and proud to complete. These people love his daughter, willing to defy another of the seven ruling Houses in order to protect her. He cannot imagine anything he would want more from the family that raised his child. Instead of making her an outsider, they chose to embrace her as one of them. He will do whatever it takes to win their trust.


	4. Arya

**Chapter 4 – Arya**

“I don’t want to go and break fast with Sansa, even if she is my sister. She is such a Lady, what would I want with her?” Arya asks hotly, not caring in the slightest that she sounds spoiled. She rather likes the family as it is, just her and Robb with Bran and Rickon. They don’t need another, not in their home and certainly not in their family.

 

“Give her a chance Arya, she may surprise you,” is all Robb says from his place at a table in her solar.

 

“She’ll be a rose princess in truth soon enough, why pretend she was ever a wolf?” Arya spits back angrily. All her life she’s been in Sansa’s shadow. She remembers Lady Alerie’s letters back when she still wrote them, detailing every achievement and hobby this fanciful sister of hers ever did. She remembers her mother fawning over how beautiful Sansa’s hair must look, the color of red gold Lady Alerie had written. Every time Sansa achieved something, whether it was sewing or dancing, Arya’s mother would turn around try and teach Arya, to no avail. Arya had not missed the looks of sadness on her mother’s face each time she failed to master the art of sewing or the grace of dance. It was as if Catelyn wished that it was Arya that had been sent away instead of her precious Sansa. Sansa was the daughter her mother actually wanted.

 

“Sansa has been through more than I pray to all the gods you ever will. The least you can do is give her a chance. She’s done nothing to earn your wrath,” he tells her calmly, taking an apple from the serving dish.

 

“But she will. I swear if she makes one comment on how I’m dressed or how I behave then I will sit here throughout her wedding and not move until it is time to return home,” Arya huffs.

 

“Will you give the girl a try before you make up your mind?” Robb asks with a laugh.

 

“Fine, I’ll give her a chance,” Arya replies thoughtfully, “but only one.”

 

“Good, then let’s make our way to Sansa’s solar to break our fast with her and the Tyrell heirs,” Robb calls good naturedly.

 

Together the two siblings make their way to Sansa’s solar. Not for the first time Arya wishes that Bran and Rickon were here too, but as always, a Stark must remain at Winterfell.

 

When they arrive to Sansa’s solar, they are announced by a pretty blonde girl draped in blue silks. Standing inside is Sansa and Princess Margaery, both looking tall and regal in gowns of silver silk.

 

The chamber itself is far fancier than Arya ever imagined. The room seems almost as large as the great hall of Winterfell, with walls plated in marble and draped with large velvet tapestries. A bed is against the far wall, larger than any Arya has ever seen and decorated with many pillows. Beside a fireplace so large that Arya could easily walk inside are an array of seating chairs ideal for conversation or a circle of sewing. Everywhere she looks there is expensive luxuries, far more than Arya ever expected a hostage to have. To her right is a large terrace, decorated with flowers of every kind.

 

“Oh no,” Arya whispers as Sansa makes her way towards them, a large smile on her pretty face.

 

“Arya, I have heard much about you from our cousin Jon,” Sansa says happily, taking Arya’s hand and clasping it between her own, “He tells me you are quite skilled with a bow. Is that common in the North?”

 

Sansa is not as Arya had expected, making no comment on Arya’s rumpled dress and actually sounding relatively interested in Arya’s skill with a bow. Wondering if it’s some sort of trick, she casts a sideways glance to Robb, who only smiles at her as if to say ‘I told you so’.

 

“Not very, more common than the South I’d imagine,” Arya replies as Sansa leads her to the long table.

 

“Garlan tried to teach me, but I’ve no hand for sports,” Sansa says lightly. It is when Sansa turns her attention to Robb that Arya notices a sudden change take over the sister she has never known. Her eyes dart to Margaery for assurance before returning to the brother they share. “You must be Robb. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Arya sees her brother smile warmly at their sister as he takes a step towards them. “The pleasure is mine, sister. It is good to see you once more.”

 

“Yes,” Sansa says simply, though uneasily, “I don’t remember of course. Still, when Lord Stark came to visit with me when I was still very young, he told me of his son who would always stay by his sister’s cradle in order to protect her from harm. That is you.”

 

Arya and Robb both freeze at their sister’s words. When had their father visited Sansa? Surely they’d have heard about it if their mother knew. Arya stares curiously at this girl that she decided to dislike at an early age. Is this girl playing at something? Or did their father really keep such a visit a secret?

 

“Now Arya, I hear you are to have a wedding soon yourself,” Sansa continues, turning her attention back to Arya.

 

“Yes,” Arya winces, her betrothal is rather a sore topic and she’d prefer not to discuss it. It isn’t that she dislikes her husband to be, simply that she isn’t in any mood to marry and the idea of it makes her feel rather sick.

 

“Sansa,” their mother’s voice says from behind her. Arya turns to see her mother and father have both arrived. She doesn’t miss the look of adoration on her mother’s face or the way Sansa seems to tighten beside her. It makes Arya curious. Why does Sansa seem at ease with her, but not with their shared brother or mother and father?

 

“Lord and Lady Stark, so happy you could accept my invitation. There is some wonderful food prepared on the terrace. If you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment for my bro…” Sansa stops abruptly, seeming to catch herself before she says brothers, “for Garlan and Loras to arrive. They’ve been called to Willas’s chamber and should arrive shortly.”

 

“Of course,” their mother says, clearly hurt by Sansa’s lack of familiarity.

 

“So Arya, let us sit out on the terrace while we wait for Garlan and Loras, I would like to know you better,” Sansa says brightly, taking Arya’s arm before she has a chance to say anything.

 

Arya narrows her eyes slightly. Sansa seems likeable enough (not that she likes her), but why is it she so easily dismisses their parents and brother but chooses to bond with her instead? It doesn’t make sense. Robb has always been the more likable of the two of them and their parents have done nothing but adore this fairytale of a daughter all her life. So why does Sansa choose her? The sister she shares nothing in common with and who prefers to keep her distance?

 

“Once you marry, you will come South to live in King’s Landing, right?” Sansa asks, her voice laced with hope.

 

It is then Arya understands, and it makes her furious. As the betrothed of Jon Targaryen, Arya will become the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She’s heard of the Tyrells, master manipulators with one foot always towards power. So Sansa has become one of them.

 

“If I do, do not expect anything of me! I will do nothing for a spoiled girl like you who will not even address her own parents as mother and father!” Arya yells hotly, pulling herself from Sansa’s grasp and stalking out of her sister’s chamber.

 

She returns to her room, ordering the handmaiden not to allow anyone to enter. Surly she’d have caused a fuss with her dismissal and she didn’t want anyone chasing after her. Her order must have gone unheard or flat out ignored, however, as her chamber doors open only a few minutes after she enters.

 

Ready to defend herself, she whirls around only to stop when she see Margaery Targaryen standing there.

 

“What do you want?” she spits angrily, in no mood to hear what Margaery has to say but knowing better than to yell at a Targaryen Princess.

 

“To speak with you,” Margaery says simply, moving with all the grace of her station as she makes her way to the very seat Robb had sat in only that morning. “Why is it you grew angry with Sansa?”

 

“Because,” Arya says angrily, not sure how to voice her anger without stepping too far out of turn, “Sansa has done nothing but shun my family and spit on the love they give her, but because I am betrothed to the future King she goes out of her way to act like a sister.”

 

“Ah,” Margaery replies, a sad smile crossing her pretty face, “I see.” The lovely brown haired woman takes a deep breath before turning her eyes to Arya. “Sansa isn’t a malicious girl Arya. Are you privy to the details of all Sansa’s been through?”

 

“I know she was attacked,” is all Arya says. It’s all she knows. When the attacked happened her parents thought her too young for the details and they haven’t spoken of it since. Honestly she’d forgotten the event occurred until now.

 

“She was,” Margaery says with a nod, her face grave. “A Lannister bannerman that we welcomed into our home murdered Sansa’s guard and attempted to rape her.” The word makes Arya’s blood run cold. “He cut away her dress and pressed a knife to her. He told her that she was wrong to be born, for the sins of her father she should died to punish him. He said he would ruin her, and that when he was done he would cut away any chance of child she’d have. He claimed to do it in the name of the King.” Margaery takes a deep breath. “Sansa spent months in my bed, clinging to me every night for fear that someone would come to finish what that horrible excuse of a man started. She attached herself to all of us in the family, but especially to Garlan. It was Garlan that leapt across her bed to save her. At her worst he is the only one who can bring her back to us.” Margaery rises slowly, Arya gets the feeling that she’s about to feel even worse. “If Sansa wanted to have influence over the future King, she’d have accepted the offer of marriage your Aunt Lyanna put forth. She wanted my nephew to marry Sansa, to make Sansa the future Queen. Since my own marriage, I spend most of my time at court with my husband. My visits home are scarce and Sansa hasn’t the… mental health to return to court since that one visit. While I have not discussed this with Sansa, few know her better than I. Sansa doesn’t need another mother, she has one, she doesn’t need another brother, she has plenty, but what she needs desperately, is another female companion. She needs another sister.”

 

With her piece said, Arya watches as the girl that will be her aunt by marriage makes her way out of the chamber.

 

“A sister,” Arya breaths.  


	5. Arya Part 2

**Chapter 5 – Arya Part 2**

As the wedding day fast approaches, Arya cannot help but continue to think over Margaery’s words. After Margaery had left, of course her mother had stormed into her solar in a cloud of fury and lectured her for close to an hour on how unlady-like, unsisterly, and downright atrocious her behavior had been. For perhaps the first time she heard her mother when she said the words: _“She is your sister!”_

 

With only one night left before the wedding, the castle is in a frenzy. Arya is ready to take full advantage of the chaos in order to seek out Loras Tyrell, in the hopes that the unbelievably _pretty_ boy could supply her with answers. While she’d have preferred to speak with Garlan, the middle brother hasn’t left Sansa’s side since his absence the morning after the welcome feast.

 

Earlier that morning Arya had gone through her mother’s trunk, searching for the letters Lady Alerie had sent. She hadn’t been surprised to find them tucked away in the bottom of the trunk, her mother rarely went far without them. They have been her mother’s comfort since Sansa was first taken. For the first time, Arya read them, one after another, but none interested her more than the first and the last one.

 

_Lady Catelyn Stark,_

_Highgarden has been in chaos since our arrival, so I apologize for not writing sooner. Sansa is certainly a jolly little girl. She is walking some, so long as someone is holding her hands. Ser Jaden and Ser Cal have taken to walking with her. Most of these men that accompany me have young children they left at home and it appears that Sansa has been helping fill the void. They’ve become protective of her, especially Ser Jaden, who lost an infant sister only a year ago. I am happy to see she has given him such joy._

_To my surprise, my eldest son Willas convinced my husband to hold a feast in Sansa’s honor, welcoming her to Highgarden. He spent most the night carrying her on his arm, dancing with her and swinging her about between Lords and Ladies of The Reach. Your good sister, Queen Lyanna was also in attendance with her son Prince Jon. I have never seen anyone fawn over a babe the way her Grace did with your Sansa. She seemed quite happy to meet her young niece._

_Once the welcome feast came to an end and the fuss died down, I was able to watch my children interact with little Sansa. Despite Sansa’s small size, Garlan encourages her to be adventurous. Margaery and Loras hold Sansa’s hands and patiently walk with her about the gardens, teaching her of the flowers we grow here. Willas takes her with him when he goes for a ride in the orchards. One day I went outside to find Sansa sitting on a blanket with my three sons and daughter, enjoying a picnic under the sun. In the fortnight since our arrival, they have taken to her easily._

_I think Sansa will feel at home here alongside my children. I can see already that they have accepted her as their sister. They will each continue to grow to love her, and they will become some of her fiercest protectors I assure you._

_I hope you are doing well Lady Stark, while I cannot take away your pain, I hope it lessens with the knowledge that Sansa has been well cared for as I promised and will continue to be. Now that we are home I will write you often, so that you may know your daughter._

_Lady Alerie Tyrell_

_Lady of Highgarden_

_Lady of Oldtown_

It is an interesting thought to Arya, that her Aunt Lyanna traveled to Highgarden to see Sansa arrive. Now that Margaery has informed her of the original intention to betroth Sansa to Jon, it makes her wonder if the idea of the betrothal between Jon and Sansa had been born that day. It also made her wonder if Lyanna will resent her like her own mother had that she is not Sansa.

 

_Lady Catelyn Stark,_

_I write to tell you that my letters will not be so frequent henceforth. I am afraid my eldest son’s injury has become increasingly more difficult to manage as of late. Willas is often too tired to do much and what little he can pains him greatly. It has made things difficult in our family, though both Margaery and Sansa have taken to tending to him. Sansa lays beside him for hours when the pain is overwhelming, usually reading to him or just talking to him. I know she worries for him greatly._

_Despite the pain my son causes her dear heart, Sansa is still as lively as ever. I overheard the maids talking, saying that they had seen Loras and Sansa chasing one another in the orchards well after they were both supposed to be in bed. There is much love between our two children, though you know that. Loras has spent nearly every waking moment with Sansa as of late. While I know it is not entirely proper, I cannot count the number of times I have entered either my son or Sansa’s solar to find they’ve fallen asleep beside one another on Loras’s daybed or Sansa’s lounge chairs._

_We’ve received another gift from Queen Lyanna. She has sent Sansa the most beautiful gown, lavish and complex even by the standards of Highgarden. It is truly a magnificent gown for a girl of only ten years, Margaery says we ought to throw a ball simply to give Sansa a reason to wear it. I wish I could have a portrait done of her and have it sent North, but I am afraid with the raiders that it would never make it to you. She looks positively darling. My good mother says I should style her as a Lady and attract a match, but I wish to preserve as much of Sansa’s childhood as I can. When we host the ball I will leave Sansa’s beautiful hair down and give her a simple crown of roses. She’s no need for suitors at ten._

_As I have promised in every letter since Sansa was first placed in my care. Do not ever fear that your daughter is being mistreated, she is well loved here at Highgarden._

_Lady Alerie Tyrell_

_Lady of Highgarden_

_Lady of Oldtown_

The last letter had left Arya feeling distrusting. In the week she has spent at Highgarden, she has inquired on Lord Willas’s health to many different people and none have mentioned Willas taking a turn for the worst around the time when Lady Alerie would have sent that last letter. It makes her wonder if Lady Alerie did not have a different motivation for stopping the endless sea of letters she once exchanged with her Lady mother? Thinking back on it, while her mother had never said why Lady Alerie’s letters stopped, she had seemed rather shaken after that last one arrived. Was her mother privy to something the rest of them are not?

 

Continuing her search for Loras with no avail, Arya decides to change tactics. Perhaps she should speak with her Lord father? He is likely to know something about this. Deciding that yes, she would speak with her father, Arya turns down the corridor she hopes leads back to the wing that houses the Stark family.

 

It takes a few minutes for her to realize that she is thoroughly lost in the large castle. Irritated and annoyed, she quickly flags down a passing maid.

 

“Lady Arya, may I be of service?” the overly chipper girl asks with a wide smile.

 

“I was trying to get back to my solar, but all these corridors look the same,” Arya replies in annoyance.

 

“Of course Lady Arya, you’ve actually wandered quite far. This corridor hosts the family studies,” the girl continues, that annoying smile still present, but she looks passed it in favor of the information she has just been given unknowingly.

 

“Of all the family?” she clarifies.

 

“Yes my Lady, there is one for Lord Tyrell, Lady Tyrell, as well as Lord Willas and Lady Olenna,” the girl affirms before continuing, “Now the corridor that houses your family is down three and over two. Once you see the green tapestries you have found the main hall. Would you like me to accompany you Lady Arya?”

 

“No,” Arya says quickly, giving her a large smile of her own, “you have been most helpful. Thank you.”

 

“Of course my Lady,” the girl replies before continuing on her way.

 

Arya smiles as she knocks on the nearest door to her own. What better way to learn more about the character of a person than by looking through their private papers?

 

With no answer or guards in sight, Arya quickly opens the door and disappears inside. The room is a large one, as everything in Highgarden seems to be. Unlike most of the other rooms however, this one is sparsely decorated meaning it can belong to neither Lord Tyrell nor Lady Olenna. From the lack of volumes Arya would venture a guess that it isn’t his either, leaving only Lady Alerie.

 

Arya glances around the room before making her way over to the desk. “Father keeps his important papers in easy reach from the desk,” Arya says to herself, sitting in Lady Alerie’s desk, “within an arm’s reach on the right.” Sitting on the right corner of the desk is a gold plated box. Arya opens it quickly to find three letters, each addressed to Lady Alerie, one with the sigil of House Stark, another with a sigil of House Targaryen, and a third with the sigil of House Lannister. Quickly Arya tears into the one with House Lannister, why would Lady Alerie be corresponding with such an unfavorable house?

 

_Lord Mace Tyrell,_

_I have just heard of the actions of my bannerman against your ward, Lady Sansa Stark. I write to extend my deepest apologizes, and to assure you I do not condone his actions. I have sent a summons to his Head of House. I promise to make it clear that such acts are intolerable._

_As a show of our apology, I extend an invitation to Sansa Stark to visit Casterly Rock. My niece Joanna Martell will be visiting and I am sure she and the Lady Sansa would get along wonderfully._

_Lord Tyrion Lannister_

_Lord of Casterly Rock_

_Warden of the West_

Surely Lord Tyrion Lannister had other motivation when it came to inviting Sansa to the Westerlands? It’s an interesting letter to say the least, but as far as Arya knows, other than a visit to the capitol, Sansa has never left The Reach.

 

She tears into the one from House Targaryen next. While it contains nothing of real importance, Arya is quick to note her Aunt’s name at the bottom of the letter. Lastly she opens the one from her own House.

 

_Lady Alerie Tyrell,_

_I would like to thank you for the letters you have sent these past ten years. As you know a family is not usually allowed any contact between their child sent away as a hostage. You allowed me the privilege of visiting with her once and you have taken great care to send weekly letters, telling us every story we were unable to witness ourselves. I have enjoyed each letter, but I fear my wife is unable to move on with these constant reminders that our daughter is not allowed to be with us. I care for Sansa greatly and I always will, but I need to protect my wife from this constant heartache. I ask that you no longer send the letters._

_Thank you for all that you have done, especially your kindness to Sansa. You have treated her better than I could have ever hoped._

_Lord Eddard Stark_

_Lord of Winterfell_

_Warden of the North_

Arya’s mouth drops open at the letter. How could her father ever do that to her mother? Was it not enough that her daughter had been taken from her? Whatever Ayra’s feelings on the matter of her sister, it is cruel to deny her mother this one comfort.

 

Stuffing the letters in her pocket, she storms out of the study. She needs to speak with her father.


	6. Ned Part 2

**Chapter 6 – Ned Part 2**

 

It’s hard to be patient when one’s daughter is about to be wed. Dawn had hardly been upon them when Lady Alerie had come sweeping into his and Cat’s solar, to accompany him to the room where he would wait for Sansa. She had looped her arm through his and escorted him down the twisting halls of Highgarden, a bright and beautiful smile on her face. As they’d walked she’d entertained him with more stories of Sansa, telling him of a time when Sansa and Loras had gotten lost while riding and when the Tyrell Guard had finally found them that Sansa had climbed up a tree and was throwing pinecones at Loras.

 

“Here we are Lord Stark,” Lady Alerie says as one of the Tyrell Guard opens the door, leading him inside.

 

The room itself is small by Highgarden standards, though it is perhaps as large as his solar at Winterfell. There is a large tapestry rug and many sitting chairs centered around the large fireplace. It isn’t the room that captures his attention however, but the large paintings, all done by the same person. There is a portrait of what appears to be Lady Margaery, laying in a valley of wild flowers. There is another of Willas and Garlan, fighting one another with play swords. There is another of Sansa and Loras, dancing in the orchard, Sansa’s head thrown back with cheeks tinted pink with laughter. It is the last one that takes his breath away, however. It is a portrait of Sansa, dressed in the finest gown he has ever seen, with her beautiful fire colored loose to catch in the wind, pinned down only with a lovely crown of white roses.

 

“I wrote your wife of that gown. Your sister, Queen Lyanna had the seamstresses of King’s Landing making it for nearly a year. The gown probably cost more than Margaery’s entire wardrobe. Sansa still has it, put away in a trunk with a few select trinkets of her childhood. Margaery had me host a ball so that Sansa would have a reason to wear it. Every man in attendance could not tear their eyes from her but Sansa entertained none of them. She spent half the night sitting beside Willas. She stole away a few times to dance with Garlan and Loras, but she couldn’t leave Willas alone. Your daughter loves my son very much, he will make her very happy,” Lady Alerie says with a soft smile as she looks lovingly at the painting, “Now I must go Lord Stark, but Sansa should be along shortly.”

 

Lady Alerie sweeps out the door with a reassuring smile over her shoulder, leaving Ned to his thoughts. How did he get to this point? How did this day come so fast? His daughter is to be wed, and these people he hardly knows know her better than he. It is the Tyrells that have her trust and her love. She hardly knows her Stark family at all, though he does expect that the friendship between his daughters has the potential to be fierce.

 

“Lord Stark,” a soft voice says from behind him.

 

When Ned turns, he almost forgets to breath. Sansa stands in the doorway, looking like the Maiden reborn. The gown she wears is far lovelier than any gown that she would have worn as a Northern bride. She looks as delicate as the doll.

 

“You look beautiful Sansa,” he tells her softly, keeping his distance in the hopes of preventing any discomfort she might have.

 

“Thank you,” she says even softer, avoiding his eye as she walks farther into the room, towards the hearth. It is only then he notices the doll he gave her in her hands.

 

“You kept her,” he says, touched that she’d keep such a simple doll compared to the more beautiful ones he imagines Lady Alerie had made just for her.

 

“It is not the original,” she informs slowly, “the… Lannister bannerman broke her when he…” She pauses, biting her lip as she shyly meets his eye. “Lady Alerie had a replica made. Soon after I got her… when you… gave her… to me. I…” her speech is fractured and hardly coherent, but he feels a glimmer of hope that she is trying to connect with him. “Lady Alerie used to tell me a story, at night… or when I was ill. It told of a babe, forced away from the family that bore her though well loved by the family that raised her.”

 

Ned watches the last bit of strength slowly drains away from his eldest daughter. If he is going to save this moment, he needs to think of something fast. Sansa sits facing away from him on one of the chairs by the hearth.

 

“Does Willas make you happy?” he asks, hoping the opportunity to speak of her betrothed will lift her spirits. It isn’t right for a girl to seem so grim on the day of her wedding.

 

“Very much so,” she murmers happily, color rising to her cheeks.

 

“Tell me about him. Is he kind?”

 

“Very kind.” Her head lifts and her eyes glaze over. “Willas has always been good to me. It is said he would spend early evenings with me when I was a babe, refusing to allow me to sleep in my cradle. He would insist I sleep on his arm. My earliest memory is when I was but four and I fell from a tree that Garlan had taught me to climb. I cried for Lady Alerie and while the guards ran to me, Willas was the first to get to my side. He whisked me into his arms, though it must have caused his leg such pain, and shushed me until I cried no longer. He taught me to ride a horse, never once harsh or impatient. He would taunt me as I grew older, coerce me to come riding with him. While it’s hardly proper for a Lady to love riding so much, he always made it so…”

 

Any fears Ned had on whether Willas Tyrell would be a good match for Sansa faded away as he watched her speak of her betrothed. It is clear that his daughter loves her husband to be with all her heart, and if the looks he has seen Willas give his daughter say anything he would expect Willas feels the same.

 

“Sansa,” a gentle voice says from behind them, startling them both as they’d forgotten the door remains open. They both turn to see Princess Daenerys standing in a gown of Targaryen red, looking as lovely as ever.

 

“Dany,” Sansa says with an affectionate smile. Ned wonders when Sansa became so acquainted with the Princess of the Seven Realms to appear so at ease with her.

 

“You look lovely Sansa,” the silver haired girl says as the two girls move to embrace one another. “Everyone is being seated but I had to see you one last time before you are wed. I am so very happy for you. While I wish dearly you could have come to the capitol to marry my nephew, there is no doubt you belong with Willas.”

 

“Thank you Dany,” Sansa says warmly, smiling brightly at the silver haired girl.

 

“I will see you soon enough, and you will be Lady Sansa Tyrell of the Reach,” Daenerys giggles, giving Sansa a quick kiss on the cheek before sweeping out of the room.

 

“Does it bother you?” Sansa asks suddenly, turning to look at him.

 

“Does what bother me?”

 

“I am…” Sansa swallows hard, averting her eyes from him once again, “your daughter.” Her eyes return to him, though she looks unsure of herself. “Does it bother you that I will no longer be a Stark.”

 

Ned freezes at her words. In the time he’s been at the Reach, it’s been made clear on more than one occasion that Sansa does not consider herself of the North or of the Stark family. She is looking for something in him however, though he isn’t quite sure what. Perhaps his wife would know, wives know daughters far better than fathers.

 

“Sansa,” he breathes, going towards her with what he hopes is a look of reassurance, “you will always be my daughter. You may never consider me your father,” he watches as Sansa looks up at him, still unsure, so he takes the moment to place his hand on her shoulder, “but I will always love you. No matter what, I will always be your ally. I fought a war against the Mad King for the sake of my sister and I would just as quickly fight one against any that dared to harm you.”

 

“But you didn’t,” Sansa says softly, pain in her eyes as she looks at him accusingly.

 

“If there had been a way to keep you with me, I’d have done so in a moment. I had to make a decision, not as your father but as a subject of the realm. To have waged a war when the demand that all second children be sent away to foster came, would have sent countless more to die. I had to make a choice, allow you to go with a family that has loved you every bit as much as we would have or wage a war that would have killed thousands of men and risk having my entire family executed should I lose. It was a cost, however dear, to a decision I had to make. I had to trust that you were cared for, and from what I can see, you have been. All I can hope for is that one day you will look to me and see… someone who is at least not a stranger.”

 

Sansa looks away from him, but she does not step away so that his hand no longer rests on her shoulder.

 

“I wish I could help you understand...” Sansa starts, only to be interrupted when a handmaiden appears in the doorway. Ned recognizes the girl as Sansa’s personal handmaiden.

 

“Lady Sansa,” the girl says with a wide smile, “it is time.” The handmaiden steps towards Sansa, a gleam of amusement and pride in her eye. Ned watches as the girl gingerly takes his daughter’s hand. “It is finally time.” They share a look, a look that means something to them both but means nothing to Ned.

 

“Finally,” Sansa whispers, tears coming to her eyes as she looks happily at the handmaiden.

 

“Then let us go,” he says, a lump in his throat as he offers this beautiful stranger who is his daughter his arm.

 

Sansa jumps at his voice, as if she forgot he was still there. “Of course,” she says, the tears still in her eyes but the smile wide on her face.

 

With one last smile to his daughter, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell swallowed the lump in his throat and existed the chamber to marry his stranger of a daughter to a stranger of a man.


	7. Catelyn Part 2

**Chapter 7 – Catelyn Part 2**

The Lady of Winterfell waits eagerly in the crowd, her neck strained as if looking higher would make her daughter appear faster. Robb stands to her side, conversing with the Princess Daenerys. If she were not so preoccupied with the thought of her lost daughter’s wedding, she’d surely be encouraging the growing fondness they seem to have for one another. A union between one of Rhaegar’s favored siblings and a Stark would be a glorious win for her husband’s house. It is exactly what they need to remove the shame of their involvement in the rebellion.

 

Her breath stops when the music begins. The large and ornate golden doors of the grand Sept open Catelyn’s first thought is just how beautiful her daughter is as she glides onto the top step. Her shoulders are bare and her gown of the purest white is fitted so that every curve of Sansa’s body is visible. The main part of the gown has a complicated stitching of what appears to be roses stitched with a light gold thread, while the skirt of the gown has a cloaking of lace; the bottom has a close circle of pearls stitched into the hem. While Catelyn admits that the dress is absolutely stunning, her cheeks redden at ho improper it is. Only a whore should reveal so much of her body.

 

It takes Catelyn another moment to realize, as her husband escorts Sansa down the steps to the walkway of rose petals, that the Stark cloak is absent from her daughter’s shoulders. It makes her blood boil, for why else would they have her without one except to shame them?

 

As Sansa comes closer, Catelyn’s heart softens when she sees the look in her daughter’s eyes. They are fixed on Willas, as if he is all she sees. The smile on her daughter’s face makes her lovely face appear all the more beautiful, it is a smile of true love.

 

Sansa grasps Willas’s hand firmly when she reaches him, and the lame man takes both her hands in his, looking at her as if she hung the moon.

 

As they say their vows, it is not lost on Catelyn how the pair look at one another. When Willas places the cloak around Sansa’s shoulders, a transformation comes over Sansa. Sansa’s back straightens, her smile broadens, and the fragile look in her eye disappears, it is as if she were born to wear the cloak of House Tyrell. As the pair close the gap between them, pressing their lips together, the way Sansa’s hands rise to rest on Willas’s shoulders and the way Willas’s hands rest on Sansa’s waist, Catelyn is horrified to realize that her daughter was. Her daughter has never been a Stark, since the second week of her life, she has been a Tyrell.

 

The cheers break out from the crowd as the couple separate. Sansa is aglow with happiness and Willas smiles into the crowd, grasping Sansa’s hand and raising them to the crowd.

 

“Lady Sansa Tyrell!” he shouts.

 

“May she live long!” the crowd shouts.

 

As the feast comes, Catelyn refuses the wine offered to her. She should feel happy, watching her daughter sit at the high table with her new husband, but she feels nothing but sick. She’d been a fool to think she was coming to retrieve her lost child. Sansa has never been hers, not in any way that mattered. The girl that sits beside her new husband, laughing with the family that’s raised her, is hardly more than a stranger. As Sansa grasps at Willas’s hand yet ducks her head with Margaery, she cannot see anything she recognizes.

 

As the beat of the song quickens, Catelyn watches as Sansa’s face lights up. Margaery immediately rises from her seat, grabbing at Sansa’s hand and pulling her towards the dance floor. Sansa is laughing, her loose hair swinging about her shoulders as they make their way to the middle of the dance floor. Sansa beckons the Princess Daenerys who grabs the hand of Princess Rhaenys, dragging her onto the floor to join the two Ladies in the middle. The girls giggle madly as they begin to dance in a circle, hands clasped tightly together as if playing a child’s game.

 

“Lady Stark,” a voice says, startling Catelyn where she sits, “may I sit?” Catelyn looks up to see Lady Alerie standing to the side, smiling kindly as she glances to Sansa dancing with her daughter.

 

“Lady Alerie,” Catelyn says, forgetting her manners for a moment before quickly nodding.

 

“Sansa appears very happy,” Lady Alerie says with a smile, looking out over to Sansa dancing with the young women of House Targaryen. “Seeing her dance this way. It reminds me of the night before Margaery’s wedding. Sansa invited all the young ladies to Margaery’s solar, along with a few pipers and singers. She grabbed at Margaery as the music began and all the young ladies danced and danced, putting my daughter at ease so that she finally slept. I came to retrieve Margaery the next day and found all the ladies piled in my daughter’s bed, fast asleep. For all that my children take care of Sansa, she returns that love and affection ten folds.”

 

“I am happy that Sansa is so well adjusted,” Catelyn says diplomatically, unable to summon a more complex lie.

 

“No you’re not,” Lady Alerie says kindly, “You feel I’ve robbed you of your child.”

 

“Well, haven’t you?” Catelyn asks bitterly, unable to keep the emotion from her face.

 

“I am sorry that you could not be in Sansa’s life as you should have, and I am sorry that Sansa will never know the family that has always loved her, but I will not apologize for taking her as my own. I made a promise to you the day I collected her and I have lived by it every day. I raised Sansa as my own. I quickly came to think of her as my daughter, my own child alongside my trueborn children. It delights me to have her as my good daughter now. It does not mean I do not understand how hard this must be.”

 

“Sansa seems at ease,” Catelyn says, quickly changing the subject or else she knows she’ll becoming increasingly less proper.

 

“Yes,” Lady Alerie says with a warm smile, her eyes brightening as she turns her eyes back to Sansa. “I thank the gods every day for the Targaryen Princesses. They love her as dearly as she loves them.”

 

“Yes,” Catelyn says, narrowing her eyes slightly in confusion. Her daughter has been nothing but closed off and submissive, but there she stands laughing and twirling with the three Targaryen Princesses as if she’s known Daenerys and Rhaenys her whole life. “How is it she came to form such friendships with the Princesses? It was my understanding that she has only attended the Capitol once.”

 

Lady Alerie looks ill at ease with the question, making Catelyn suspect that whatever answer the Lady of Highgarden gives, it will not be a whole one. “Shortly after Margaery’s marriage, she returned to Highgarden with the two Targaryen princesses. Sansa was weary of them, of course, but she quickly formed a fast friendship with them.”

 

“I see,” Catelyn says, returning to her eyes to her daughter, who twirls in the center of the floor with Margaery. They are laughing, heads pressed together. It makes Catelyn’s heart ache to see. Sansa is a Tyrell in every way now, but as she already knew, her daughter has never been a Stark.


	8. Robb Part 2

**Chapter 8 – Robb Part 2**

 

The gardens of Highgarden are far too elaborate and intricate to ever be considered anything other than excessive in the eyes of a Northman, but for perhaps the first time since his arrival, Robb Stark is thankful for the ridiculousness of it all. For the past few days he has spent a good majority of his time in the company of the Princess Daenerys, sister to the King. It didn’t take long for him to realize that she is by far one of the loveliest people he has ever met. While he knows her to be a practical girl, even she appears to be enamored with the lavish gardens.

 

As they make their way down the path to another garden, Robb steals a glance at his beautiful companion. There is something mystical about her, from the way her hair glows in the evening light to the way her lilac eyes dance. She reminds him of a wood nymph, perfectly at home among the army of roses, delighted merely by their presence.

 

“You stare my Lord,” she laughs, shaking him from his thoughts.

 

“My apologies my Lady,” he replies with a blush rising up his neck, “I did not mean to…” The heir of Winterfell trails off when he sees the smile on Daenerys’s face.

 

“I’ve taken no offence my Lord, simply making an observation,” she says with a smile.

 

“You are very beautiful,” he says before he can stop himself, and almost immediately he blushes.

 

“And you are very handsome,” Daenerys replies, smiling at him as if he were something far greater than he is.

 

“I would like…” his mouth runs dry, “We leave in a fortnight and I would like to send a raven to your brother for permission to write you… of course only if you…”

 

“I would love to write you,” the Targaryen Princess says with a smile as she takes a step towards him, a shy smile on her lovely face.

 

“Dani! Robb!” a voice calls, interrupting the moment Robb knows they were surely about to share, but the Heir of Winterfell can’t fault the person when he sees who it is.

 

Sansa Tyrell is different from Sansa Stark. As his sister makes her way towards them, Robb cannot help but notice a transformation in his sister. The Tyrell name suits her well and she wears it proudly like a badge of honor. While her wedding gown is immodest and gaudy, the way she walks in it with her head held high and her back straight, the eldest Stark son wonders if perhaps his sister really is meant to be a Queen. She is more poised by far than their shared sister.

 

“Sansa,” Daenerys says with a smile as she makes her way towards his sister.

 

Robb watches in fascination as the two women embraced warmly. The bond between the Targaryen Princess and his sister is a peculiar one. Sansa and Daenerys are both timid girls, each quiet and diplomatic in their own way, but there is a strength to them that seems to come out in full force when they are together. Sansa’s relationship with Margaery is more akin to a mother and child, but in the few moments he has seen his sister and Daenerys together, they act more like the young girls they are, the way he imagines most sisters would act.

 

“Lady Tyrell,” Robb says with a mock bow once Daenerys and Sansa finish greeting one another. They each keep an arm wrapped around their waists, linking them together even as they face him.

 

“Lord Stark,” Sansa jokes, a wide smile on her face as she gives him a mock curtsey in return.

 

“Should you not be enjoying your wedding?” the King’s sister asks.

 

“I have come from speaking with my husband,” Sansa blushes at the word, it’s a becoming look on his sister, “I have asked him to speak with Lord Tyrell on extending an invitation for both you and Robb as well as Arya to stay at Highgarden a bit longer.” Sansa turns to face him, her eyes that match his own gleaming softly, “I would like to know my sister and brother.”

 

Robb nearly chokes at the language. The Heir of Winterfell has known little other than his sister’s cold reserve for their shared family, but armed with a new name it is as if an openness has overcome her, a willingness. She has already shown a tenderness for Arya, a tenderness that did not lesson despite his sister’s little tantrum, but she’s shown him little fondness.

 

“I had hoped Lord Tyrell would extend an invitation,” Daenerys says, giving Robb’s sister a warm smile, “Should my brother agree, I would love to accept.”

 

While maintaining a smile to his sister, Robb mentally shakes his head. He is grateful for Sansa’s new found acceptance for her estranged family, but he cannot help the caution that keeps him from being overjoyed. It would be good for The North to have a friendly connection with The Reach, as they could provide provisions not found in his homeland. It would also not hurt for him to have a familiar relationship with the future Lord of The Reach. Still, he isn’t sure staying at Highgarden for much longer is a good idea. While Sansa, the Tyrell sons, and Lady Alerie are kind enough, there is something about the rest of the family that gives him a grave feeling. Instead he says:

 

“I am sure my father will consider the invitation sister, but as the Heir of Winterfell, I am not sure our father will be able to accept.”

 

“Well,” Sansa says, the smile holding on her face but the corners faltering slightly, “of course you are right.”

 

“Lady Sansa!” a voice calls out.

 

Robb watches as his sister, still adoring her bridal gown, turns sharply at the voice. There is something in the way she moves, the way her shoulders shake and her eyes widen. There is a guard down the path, approaching them quickly.

 

“Ser Jaden,” Sansa whispers.

 

The name must mean something to his silver haired companion, as Daenerys turns her head quickly to look at Sansa. Sadness clouds the Princess’s lilac eyes. The name means something. He makes a mental note of it.

 

“Lady Sansa,” the guard says as he makes his final approach.

 

“Ser Edwyn,” Sansa greets with a nod.

 

Robb observes his sister. Her beautiful face is as white as her gown and her eyes remain wide, as if she’s seen someone she long thought dead.

 

“Your Lord husband has sent me to find you My Lady. It appears the guests have noticed your absence,” the guard says kindly, giving Sansa an affectionate smile.

 

“Of course, I have been away too long,” Sansa replies, “Dany, Robb, if you would please excuse me.”

 

Robb watches as his sister follows the guard back towards the castle. As she disappears into the distance, the Heir of Winterfell turns to his blonde companion.

 

“Who is Ser Jaden?” I ask.

 

Daenerys frowns at the name, her lively eyes turning dark. The wind catching her silver hair it is almost poetic the way she turns from me.

 

“It is a story for another time Lord Robb,” she says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in this chapter. A good friend of my boyfriend's family has taken a turn for the worst and the chances are high she won't make it through the rest of this week. She is nineteen years old and in a lot of pain. If anyone here is religious I would greatly appreciate any prayers for her. I also ask for patience which you have all so wonderfully given, when/if she passes soon I will need to be there for my boyfriend and his family. They grew up along side each other and her death will hit them all very hard.


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